get fuckn' wrekt m8
by daedricgurl
Summary: Summary: Kurapika really didn't mean to eye the Zoldyck father up when the hired assassins were made to gather together. Oops.


I literally cannot believe this trash is my first introduction into the fandom. I couldn't think of a name, so I named it after the document file. I'll rename it if anyone thinks of something better.

ANyways; read at your own discretion. Get fucked m8.

* * *

Really, he should have known better than to stare for so long. Kurapika knew who these two men were the moment he looked at them; no, he didn't need to feel their massive aura's just to know. They took up the entire roomin that respect, made the other hired assassins look like the children they really were. When he had gone with Leorio and Gon to rescue Killua, he hadn't seen the father and grandfather; but he saw Killua in Silva's eyes and hair.

Fuck… Those eyes were trained on him, and he could not look away.

* * *

Kurapika was only reasonably surprised when his back hit a wall and the tips of his toes were feet above the floor. His nostril flared with a harsh exhale when Silva's solid body pushed against his; subsequently cracking the wall. His hips felt like bony glass compared to Silva's abdomen, but Kurapika didn't worry about being shattered. He was holding Kurapika up by the throat, and only when the blondes' face turned pale did he simply let him be pinioned between the wall and his body. When his hips were jerked forward, his shoulders sank further into the wall, and a hand navigated his long-skirt like it had a million others. Kurapika gasped and choked to catch his breath, his teeth gritted and air hissing through them when a calloused hand covered almost the entirety of his buttocks. Unbelievable. His face returned to its color, and then burned a brighter red as his hips were given another jerk and his cheeks spread. Literally; he had no time to feel humiliated or embarrassed as Silva forced a finger into his anus.

Kurapika slammed his own head back against the wall, cracking it; it crumbled and a few pieces fell to the floor. He strained to find purchase, his toes trying to reach the ground with no avail—his legs dangled while the finger was pushed inside of him. The boy groaned, he hissed, his lips were pulled back in a snarl and sweat beaded his forehead. Kurapika knew Silva was watching him, he couldn't fathom why; was it because he would not plead for cessation? Was it because he bore the pain of the dry, calloused finger twisting and grinding against the stretching inner flesh? The boy could feel the natural constrictions and release of his inner muscles, his fingers scrambled against the sunken wall behind him; crushed at rocks that fit in his grip. He groaned loudly when Silva gave one thrust with the first finger, and a second thrust with an additional finger added. Kurapika choked then too and tossed his head to the side with his eyes squeezed shut. Again, and again, and again—Kurapika's body was jolted with each pump, he quivered and shook with the effort to restrain his sounds to groans and grunts. Silva made him feel like a ragdoll, ripping his hands away from the swelling pucker and tearing the long-skirt and trousers to the ground. He slammed Kurapika back against the wall again to adjust his hips, and the boy snarled back at him with his nose winkled and his black eyes wide.

"Fuck."

Kurapika grunted when his right thigh was pulled up to Silva's hip with a large hand, and a thick glans rubbed against his ass. Silva's eyes shone with the smirk that his mouth did not; the boy's perseverance was impressive.

Again, Kurapika's skull hit the wall when the head pushed against and subsequently into the tight ring of muscle. Through his teeth, air whistled and his neck arched back as he was breached. He flung a fist against Silva's shoulder, but it was weak and only curled into the fabric of his tunic right after. Silva pulled the head out before shoving it back it and Kurapika huffed as he was shorn; threw his other leg around Silva's powerful hips as though spreading himself more would ease it. It didn't, not really. Just made it easier for the assassin to grab his hips with one hand, and a shoulder with the other; he began to push Kurapika down on his cock. Blood made for shitty lubricant, but Silva used it none the less—lifting Kurapika so it slide along the shaft before shoving back in, and always a tad deeper. Kurapika yelled out and flinched each time. At this point there was no reason and also no coherency for him to try and remain silent. It bothered Silva not, who watched the pained Kurta throwing his head back and yowling with each thrust. That same boy clutched with one hand at his tunic, and the other in his long hair; pulling him closer, tightening long legs around his waist.

He wouldn't fit all the way; Silva could physically tell when his thrust hit a wall and Kurapika screamed. The man stopped for only a moment; enough to decide he didn't _want_ to rupture this boy before his hips jostled Kurapika again as he set into a rough pace. Kurapika had bitten his lips to a bloody mess before to keep from making a sound, and now the lush tiers were swollen and scarlet. Silva did not indulge in them this day. It was enough to be partially sheathed inside this strong warrior, this warrior who simultaneously thought he deserved this pain—and wanted it.

Kurapika was not hard, his penis remained flaccid and pinned between their sweating bodies. Kurapika's top tunic was bunched against his stomach, and rubbed a rash against his belly which burned when sweat trailed to it.

" _Yes..!"_ Kurapika hissed, the shake in his voice from every thrust and the way he whispered it harshly into his ear…

Silva groaned, and Kurapika let out a ' _ha'_ as though he had won something before Silva shut him up with another shove of his cock into his ass. Kurapika's back arched against the crumbling wall before he was shoved flat back against it. He cried out, and Silva tilted his head back as his hips jerked fast. His mouth curled further into a frown as he watched Kurapika shaken with the rapid jerks of his hips into the boy. It was erotic. The pain, the satisfaction, the deprecation in the boy heavily lidded eyes and sultry mouth hanging open.

With a hum, Silva slammed Kurapika once more against the wall; it shook and more stone fell away. Simultaneous to Kurapika's alarmed cry, Silva's erection was pulled out and semen spurted thick and viscous against his reddened, scratched buttocks. Kurapika stiffened at the sensation, gasping for air and writhing as the shaft and head rubbed against his abused backside to milk every shot of it.

Silva did not drop him like Kurapika expected he would. His black eyes opened to meet Silva's and found the stare probing and free of disgust like Kurapika had wanted to see. No, this blank expanse of an expression was _not_ what he wanted to see!

* * *

"I literally cannot fucking believe you went off by yourself after them, Kurapika!"

Killua threw his hands up in the air before they hit his sides again with a 'wumf'. Kurapika was sitting on the couch; he honestly didn't know _how_ he could, and Gon was sitting beside him with an amused and apologetic face. Kurapika could not believe he was being chastised by a 12… 13? Year old?

"You have no shitting idea how many there could have been, or if they were waiting for you! You should have called us or something; we should have come with you! I can't fuckin' believe you went off on your own like that; do you have any damn idea what could have happened-!"

Killua was pacing behind the couch now, and would have continued ranting and partially shouting had Kurapika not raised his hand for silence. He turned his head as the little assassin came stomping up to the sleep deprived blond. His mouth open about to say more, but Kurapika beat him.

"I fucked your father."

Kurapika's face was serious, Killua stared at him; took in the dark circles under his eyes, the light glinting in blue iris's, the neatly folded hands in his lap…

"What the _**FUCK!**_ "


End file.
